Perceptions
by crazylizzie
Summary: Season 5, Ghost in the Machine episode response. A reflection on the part of Sheppard.


_Note: Stargate Atlantis etc. is not mine (of course) and I am not making money. Further note, this is a spoiler for Ghost in the Machine and finally, yes, it is a Shep/Weir because I can't let go and because, when it comes right down to it, I don't think the real writers can either.

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_"I only knew her a little bit, but there was always something about her I admired," Jennifer says, her hands wrapping the white bandage around Lt. Colonel Sheppard's upper arm.

John doesn't reply, watching the latest in a long series of gashes being covered up by the latest in a long series of white bandages.

Jennifer continues. "Though, I was scared of her, just a little bit. When I interviewed for this position, the last interview, I got the shakes, got sick before I had to go in for it. It was partially because I knew she was going to be there, and knew who she was by reputation, but she was the nicest of all of them. The IOC reps were not very nice, but she was nice, patient. But thorough, her questions were to the point and complex."

Jennifer smiles. "A very smart woman."

John nods. "She was."

Jennifer ties the white bandage off and steps away, pulling the latex gloves from her hands as she does so. She scans the colonel's face while he inspects her work. There are new lines on either side of his eyes, a bit of gray in his hair, but it isn't those things that cause her concern. Those are indications of tiredness, of stress, but everyone on Atlantis is tired and stressed, it is the nature of what they do and where they do it.

It is more than tired. More than stress. Something else.

Dark. Pain.

It is in his eyes, eyes that glance up at her and then back down at his arm. He hides it well, but the pain is there.

The darkness.

"Looks good," he says, getting up from the bed and pulling his jacket on. The white bandage disappears. "Thanks, doc."

Jennifer nods. "Of course. That was relatively easy compared to what you usually bring me."

Her voice is light and John acknowledges it with a flicker of a smile, something along the side of his mouth. He nods and then takes off for the door.

Jennifer stops him.

"How many time has it been now?" She asks. They are alone in the infirmary and her voice echoes among the machines.

John turns back towards her, warily almost, hesitantly.

"For what?" He asks, though he knows.

"That you've lost her?"

A moment. A space in time. A hesitation.

John doesn't move and doesn't look away from the doctor standing there. Her eyes are steady and clear as they study him. He knows what she is talking about, knows it like a slow twist of a hot poker in his gut, right under his ribs.

"Too many," he answers finally. And the knowledge of it, the weight of the truth in those words almost has him buckling, almost has him giving in to the pressure pushing downwards. Heavier, so much heavier, to know, to see, to understand, to glimpse possibilities.

A conversation with Woolsey echoing through his mind, about the possibility of having her back, here and real and whole.

Inside it shakes, a torrent, a whirlwind.

He stands still in front of the doctor waiting to hear what she has to say next.

"And every time something happens, she comes back. Even when all hope has left, when it seems like it really is the end, every time she finds her way back to Atlantis," Jennifer continues. She pauses, bites her lower lip. "To you," she finalizes.

John blinks, mouth twisting slightly. "Not this time," he says.

"How can you be so sure?" Jennifer asks quickly, ready to launch into actual explanations of the possibilities.

He shakes his head. Cutting off her argument. Another memory, another conversation, this time with Rodney, the same conversation after the last time this all happened. Always the last time.

Rodney asked that, the very words, the same thing. "How can you be so sure?"

John answers the doctor's question in the same way he answered Rodney's.

"Because I am," he says. A look, ending the conversation.

He turns from the doctor and heads out of the infirmary. She doesn't stop him.

He walks. Away. To somewhere.

He ends up on the balcony, looking over the water.

Hands at the railing, staring outwards, the doctor's words echoing, swirling.

"How can you be so sure?"

A darkness in his eyes, knuckles white against the railing.

"Because I can't be anything else," he answers at the stars overhead.

Only the wind is there to hear him.


End file.
